The wind didn't blow—it roared.
Not with violence, but with the weight of an infinite number unseen voices whispering across centuries. The grass bent. The trees bowed. Every wolf instinct in the Crescent Moon pack surged to the surface. They wanted to shift, whether to flee or to fight.
But none of them moved. Nobody wanted to provoke the wrath of these beings, or even call their attention. So they stood in silence. All except for Jax, Lily, and Nyla, the three chosen. The fate of all of them, even of the world, rested in their hands.
It was Pickle who broke the silence with a soft "woof." Every eye turned toward him, but he didn't flinch. He stood proudly, and said no more. Lily ran to him, showering his face with kisses. "My magical beach puppy, forever, Pickle," she said, tears in her eyes. It felt too much like a goodbye, she couldn't let herself think like that. She had to be strong to face what was ahead.
